


follies of aristotle

by tonytinystar



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Crack, Gen, henry winter is a flat earther, it should, this counts as crack fic right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 19:59:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19448503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonytinystar/pseuds/tonytinystar
Summary: He regarded me with a scrutinizing glance. “Richard,” he intoned. “Do you not know the moon landing was faked?”





	follies of aristotle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ammacrellin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ammacrellin/gifts).



> extremely belated happy birthday to charlotte! this is for you.

I have once said that there is only one story I could tell. And it was the truth. Mostly. But there is another one. A story I can no longer keep within myself.

I still see him in my dreams, you know? A tall, imposing figure, horn-rimmed glasses, the smell of Lucky Strikes in the air. At the dead of the night, when the world is quiet, I imagine I can still hear it, Henry and the soft cadence of his voice as he banters in Greek with Julian. The story I told was mostly true. Those concerning my past, how I made my way within the Greek class, the events surrounding Bunny’s death are as I remember them. But Henry… The end of him and of our little fellowship was so much worse.

I have mentioned once that despite all his brilliance, there were some glaring pitfalls in his knowledge. I considered his disbelief about the moon and the Apollo missions as a trivial matter but it seems I shouldn’t have been so hasty.

We don’t know when it started, although Francis and Camilla reckons it was during the couple of days he spent alone with Bunny’s family before the funeral. We will never comprehend how terrible the ordeal was for him. Alone and plagued with with his cursed headache, surrounded by the infernal din and chatter of the Corcorans… With his guard down, he must have been highly suggestible. I would always consider it as a failure in our part, to let him go head down there with no backup or support.

I gained knowledge of this unnerving development about a month after the funeral. We were back at Francis’ aunt’s lake house, the second time we have done so. It was awkward and stilted. We were still trying to force normalcy after our lives have been upended.

It was a quarter past midnight, Charles, Camilla and Francis were all in their respective rooms and probably sleeping. I was wide awake, gripped in another bout of insomnia, when I stumbled across Henry in the library. We have not had a substantive conversation since we’d been back and I was not in the mood for uncomfortable pleasantries.

As I was trying to silently back off the room, I caught a glimpse of what he was reading. What I saw had made me freeze in place for I don’t think I’ve ever seen Henry read a book in English and of a subject he regards as unnecessary as astronomy.

I walked towards him warily. At this closer distance, I saw the book cover more clearly. And more horrifyingly, that it was a paperback. “Hello there, Henry,” I opened. With great care to hide the incredulity from my voice, I asked him, “What are you reading?”

He startled a little and looked up at me, adjusting his glasses as he did so. He glanced at his book once, and with no hint of shame or embarrassment he answered, “Bunny’s father sent it to me through the post. A biography of this astronomer fellow, Neil Armstrong. He thought I would find it amusing.”

“I thought you had no interest in modern science?”

“I don’t. However, it is enjoyable to read the fallacies and lies normal people put their belief in for no other reason than the government’s propaganda.”

I will admit, that gave me pause. I think a full minute passed before I was able to reply a shaky, “Pardon? I’m afraid I’m lost.”

He regarded me with a scrutinizing glance. “Richard,” he intoned. “Do you not know the moon landing was faked?”

His question had me shaken. Truly he does not… He could not… I looked at him. He’s still dressed in a pristine Armani suit, feet clad in his preferred Ferragamo loafers, horn-rimmed glasses perched neatly on his nose. Henry. Henry Winter can not be someone who believes in this conspiracy drivel.

With no reply forthcoming from me, he takes a sip from his brandy glass and continued on. “Do you know the footage aired by the government on every television in this country?” I nodded. “I can hardly believe entire households took it as face value when there is a glaring flaw in the shot. They had the planet represented as some sort of orb, when as you know, the earth is flat.”

I can’t remember how exactly I responded after that. All I can remember is making some sort of excuse and heading upstairs. I know Henry was wrong. I know he is. But the tone of his voice, the confidence in his delivery… I almost felt ashamed for not believing the world was flat. Almost. I laid in bed staring at the ceiling and tried to parse this revelation until sleep finally took over my eyes.

When I awoke that afternoon, I headed down to join the others. We all played pinochle and neither Henry nor I made mention of our conversation.

I thought that would be the last of it but I was soon to find out it was only the beginning.

***

One evening, I opened the door of my dorm room to find Francis there, nervously sitting on my bed. He startled a little when he saw me but the expression soon faded into relief. “Care to join me downtown?” he asked.

We went to a bar relatively unpopular to Hampden’s collegiate population. We sat in a dark corner booth and after looking around to make sure no one was listening, Francis started to talk.

“Tell me, Richard,” he started. “Has Henry told you about his theories?”

I felt a heavy weight lift itself from my shoulders. “Oh, thank god!” I exclaimed. “He’s told you about the moon?”

Francis nods vigorously. “I endured a long talk about shadow angles making no sense. He had photographs, Richard. Photographs he apparently keeps at the pockets of his suits.”

So it has gotten worse, I thought. “Did he also mention the earth—“

“The earth being flat?” A voice continued.

Terror seized me as I turned to look at who spoke.

I almost sank into my sat in relief as it turned out to be Charles, Camilla standing worriedly at his side.

“Don’t worry,” said Francis. “I told them to meet us at this bar.”

“You know about this, too?” I asked the twins.

Camilla nodded. “I think I was the first to know. I asked him about his stay at the Corcorans and he told me it was enlightening. Of course this made me suspicious so I asked him to elaborate.” Camilla paused, as if trying to remain composure. “He then told me about how the government wants people to believe they were capable of landing on the moon.”

Charles rakes a hand through his hair and sighs. “I told you Henry had a sheltered education.”

“Yes, we know,” I answered. “But he’s also… knowledgeable. Intelligent even. I would not have thought he’d fall for conspiracy theories.”

Francis looks at the distance and takes a drag off his cigarette. He exhales a plume of smoke. “We need to do something.”

“And fast.”

“He’s staying at a hotel these days,” adds Camilla.

“What does that have to do with it? What’s wrong with his apartment?”

“Nothing, really. He just thinks he needs to change address because the CIA is onto him.”

It has gotten that bad? It seems Francis and Charles didn’t know about this development either, going by their pained expressions.

“Camilla, do you know which hotel he’s staying at?”

“Yes. The Albemarle.”

“Should we go tonight?” I ask.

Charles shakes his head. “No. Let’s have this night as a last reprieve. We’ll go tomorrow night.”

***

The following evening at six, we met on the hotel’s lobby and exchanged grim glances with one another. We went upstairs to 3A and stood there trying to work up the nerve to knock. In the end it was Camilla who rolled her eyes and tapped her knuckles against the door.

Henry was not pleased to us. “What can I do for you?” he asked us.

Charles and Francis both looked at me, urging me to talk. I cleared my throat. “I think it would be better if we spoke inside.”

With a hint of reluctance, he let us in. The reluctance is immediately explained by the packed suitcase and bag near the door, as well as his passport and other papers left on the table.

“Henry, are you going somewhere?” asks Francis.

Henry nods.

“Henry, no!” exclaims Camilla. “Where are you even going?”

He pours himself a brandy and takes a sip before answering. “I’m off to meet like-minded people.”

“Is that not us?”

“Oh please, Richard,” he sneers. “Do you think I don’t know you’ve all fallen for the government’s propaganda? I see it in all of your eyes. You don’t believe me when I tell you the earth is flat.”

“This is exactly what we wanted to talk to you about!” says Charles, irritation evident in his tone. “Henry, you can’t really believe in that conspiracy theory?”

“I do, because it’s true. Ancient Greece itself believed in flat earth cosmography.”

“During pre-Socratic time,” interjects Francis. “Aristotle said it was spherical.”

“I don’t care about Aristotle,” he says dismissively.

I tried to scramble together an argument he couldn’t refute. “But Henry, you’ve ridden airplanes before.”

At that, he smiles triumphantly. “Ah, yes. I have an interesting story concerning that. Remember my trip to Munich two weeks ago?” I gave him a cautious nod. “Before I got off the plane I asked the steward if I could have a word with the pilot.”

“And?” I urged.

“Flying over the distance and speed we’ve flown at, he would have had to dip the nose of the plane at regular intervals. So I asked him if we did that. What did you think he said?”

Dread washes over me. “Oh, Henry, that’s not how it wo—“

“He said he didn’t. He just flew straight, no dipping at all. No dipping, no curvature.” He looks around at us, contempt in his eyes. “That’s proof to me. Now, do you have anything to add? I have a flight to catch.”

He starts to gather his stuff but Camilla grabs his wrist. “Henry, please,” she says. “Don’t do this.”

“One day,” he says to her. “One day, you’ll see the light, Camilla.” With that he gave Camilla a kiss on her forehead and whispered something to her ear. Camilla let him go with a start.

Henry gave us one last look and walked away. We stayed in that hotel room for hours after he left, contemplating his lost. That was the last time we saw him.

It was years before I got the courage to ask Camilla what Henry whispered to her. And last week, I got my answer.

_“Stay away from big cities. Lizard people live in their sewers.”_


End file.
